


The Devil's Prophet

by Chinabone



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon - Manga, The Rumbling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21543973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chinabone/pseuds/Chinabone
Summary: My take on Chapter 123.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	The Devil's Prophet

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if my work is worthy of "Graphic Depictions of Violence", but I'm checking the box just in case.
> 
> Bone snapping is, allegedly, very painful and a little violent. Even if it wasn't inflicted by any other being. The whole vertebrae thing, too.

There was a time in which Eren felt he could floatーto dive under and to come up again, gasping with lungs full of freedom.

There’s adrenaline coursing through winding veins intertwined with muscle, pumping his heart with feverish determination.

_ A cry of pain, pleasure mixed.  The fanatic chase of Life and Death, nothing but darkness awaiting on either side. _

Bones are snapping in place, breaking to reform what shape of a monster lies beneath his eyes. Sweat dripping and hair damp with what force Eren tugs out of himselfーhis living will _yanking_ _and yanking_ with a herculean effort, blood staining his mortal body.

_ His vision fades, like a flickering candle, peripheral edges going white and pupils without any leftover traces of an old, sane emerald. _

_ The rebirth of a never-before known Armageddon arrives, flashing white steam melding with the ruby hues of shame and cowardice.  _

There, amongst the chaos of it all, a dying heart lies.

Slow-beating, messy, and ugly.

Its aorta lies open and half-cut, dissected along with the rest of its miserable existence. 

_ Blood of pain and suffering spills across like a parasite, seeping into porcelain bones where a pristine Hyacinth once dusted its way along at dawn. _

There, at the edge of the world, near the end of existence, and of Life and Deathーa sword lies a mere sigh away.

It's splintered and useless, broken and unrepaired. Used, and hastily discarded; its spine snapped in half and vertebrae plucked, two by two.

There, on an island where Life and Death once fraternized, lies a foolish story; the telling of the End of the World, and how the Earth truly rumbled on that day.

_ A story to you, two-thousand years in the future. _


End file.
